


dancing

by romanvacation



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Wedding, more angst surprise, short fic, why do i cause myself pain like this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 12:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20929958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanvacation/pseuds/romanvacation
Summary: then the music starts again, but it’s slow and pretty this time, and brad and patrice are just standing there, two stagnant bodies in the middle of swaying couples, until without even realizing what he’s saying, brad asks, “will you dance with me?”





	dancing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blindbatalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/gifts).

> since your fic was so lovely.
> 
> song inspiration for this is dancing by mellow fellow.

brad has lost count of how many drinks he’s had. all he knows is it’s a pretty high number, because he feels like the room is spinning around him, all lights and colors and dancing bodies like sardines in the middle of the floor. 

he feels like, almost for a moment, as he’s sitting there at the table, half-empty, maybe half-full glass in front of him, like he’s floating above everything. above all the noise and all the people. 

watching the first dance had been hard enough. seeing patrice’s hand touch her waist, the way his face absolutely melted into a sort of soft expression every time he looked at her, like she’s the only thing that matters. and she _is_, because they’d stood in front of everyone and said those two magic words — _i do_. 

he knows that everyone is off dancing and finding someone to hook up with, which brad has already considered and decided against, since he figures patrice knows everyone here, so fucking them might not be very wise. 

he can’t help but let his mind wander to that shitty wedding gift he got them. a fucking pot. he’s been in love with patrice for years, and all he can get for him and his new wife is a pot. not even a nice one, like cast iron. 

that pot is going to sit in patrice’s kitchen. in the apartment he shares with her. and maybe they’ll forget about who got it for them. maybe she’ll cook dinner with it, and then they’ll sit at the table, stealing smitten glances at each other over chicken and potatoes from that stupid pot.

if he’d realized sooner, maybe she’d be the one buying a pot.

it has occurred to him on multiple occasions that he could run up to patrice and confess to him right then and there, just to put it out in the open, just to see if maybe something could become of it, but then they were engaged, and then the wedding kept getting closer and closer, and brad didn’t have it in him to spoil it like that, and patrice was — is — so fucking _happy_— telling everyone about where they booked the reception and what flavor cake, and everyone just let him, because he looked happier than he’d ever been. 

there’s a minute before he looks over at the glass on the table, deciding it’s half-empty, and he downs the rest in one swing, standing up rather shakily, swaying for a moment before he grabs onto the back of the chair, steadying himself. had he not been alone, tyler’s or patrice’s shoulders would’ve done the same. 

he looks up, letting go of the chair, and he can vaguely make out faces in the flashing lights of the dance floor, and he stumbles forward, a lurching movement in all his stupor, beginning to push through the crowd, looking for something, though he’s not really sure what, or at least he isn’t until he bumps shoulders with someone, only to realize with a jarring wave of emotion that it’s patrice. 

“sorry,” patrice says over the music, leaning forward a little so he can hear him, although they both know it was brad’s fault. 

“‘s okay,” brad says back, words tumbling together, a drunken sort of lopsided grin spreading across his face, and patrice opens his mouth to say something just as the dj takes the mic, and brad can’t really make out the words — it all sounds like a cartoon, like charlie brown’s teacher. 

then the music starts again, but it’s slow and pretty this time, and brad and patrice are just standing there, two stagnant bodies in the middle of swaying couples, until without even realizing what he’s saying, brad asks, “will you dance with me?” 

it sounds surprisingly sober considering how drunk he is, and there’s a flash of something that goes across patrice’s face, only for a fraction of a second, like if brad blinked, he would’ve missed it. 

patrice doesn’t say anything, he just takes brad’s hand, setting another on his waist, and brad can’t help but wonder if this is really happening, because maybe he’s passed out somewhere and this is all a dream. his hand finds patrice’s shoulder, and they’re swaying gently in time with the music, and brad wishes he knew the name of the song, because he wants to listen to it over and over again.

“where is she?” he asks quietly, meeting patrice’s eyes again, because he’s still wondering why he’s humoring him like this. part of him knows it’s just because patrice is too nice to refuse.

“thanking everyone for coming,” patrice answers after a moment, giving him a tiny smile, and it’s just enough to make brad’s heart leap out of his chest. 

there’s a second or two of quiet, just the sound of the music, the way patrice’s hand feels at his side, like his touch is burning through to his skin, and brad lays his head on patrice’s shoulder without thinking and says quietly, “you look really nice tonight.”

he can’t see the way patrice reacts, the way his face changes to surprise and then that certain kind of softness. like the kind he gets when he looks at her. brad can only hear the quiet “thank you” he gives in return. 

that nagging thought comes back. the one that tells him to say it. to say that he’s in love with him, that he has been for what feels like forever. but it’s his wedding. his _wife_ is somewhere here, probably having the happiest day of her life, and so is patrice. he can’t ruin this. 

so he’s going to have to be okay with this one dance, because that’s all he’s going to get, so for the last few seconds of the song, brad closes his eyes, breathes in patrice’s scent, and tries to stamp this moment into his memory.

it isn’t near as long as he wanted, and they’re pulling away after what seems like just a second, and brad tries to muster a smile to match patrice’s. 

“thanks for coming,” patrice says, giving him a nod, and it takes a moment for brad to remember that this is a wedding. he’s a guest, and there are no grand confessions of love.

“‘course,” is all he can manage to say, because this somehow feels like goodbye, and brad has never been good with those, so he pushes back through the crowd, away from patrice and towards more alcohol, because he doesn’t want to see the look on his face when she comes back, doesn’t want to wish that it was him.

**Author's Note:**

> a bit of a sister to my other fic, since i have a penchant for writing fiancées and wives it seems.
> 
> hope you enjoyed it. my tumblr is pride-and-petulance/rasksmoustache.


End file.
